What She Wants
by FortressCaulfield
Summary: Four girls... One Dicey Endeavor! The tale of Max Caulfield's romantic awakening as told from the perspective of her DnD character. As you do.
1. Raiders of Insanity

**What She Wants**

**Chapter 1: Raiders of Insanity**

**A/N:** This story comes after Here At the End of All Things and Queen V's Last Stand, but all you really need to know is things here are different.

So I'll come by and see you again  
I'll be such a very good friend  
Have mercy on my soul, I will never let you know  
Where my mind has been

-Melissa Etheridge, Angels Would Fall

**27th day of the month of Centipedes, Annum of the Swarm, 3rd Age of Horrors**

She ran.

Noira the dark elf sorceress fled in a blind panic through the madly twisting catacombs of the Fortress of Insanity. The long tassels of her silken battle-gown flapped against her trim and shapely thighs. Her impractical but luscious High-Heels of Charisma clacked on the marble tile. Her flowing river of pale hair bobbed and weaved behind her, like a ghost doing parkour. Her +1 Bustier strained to contain her luxurious, ashen breasts as they bounded and kicked, like curvaceous stallions, bucking for a freedom that would not come. Delicate beads of dark elf sweat (which, as we all know, tastes like champagne) formed on her flawless, silvery skin, entirely and utterly devoid, as it was, of freckles.

How had it all gone so wrong? She and her friends had come looking to stop the Madness Vortex that had been engulfing the land, warping everything in its path into macabre grotesquery. Get to the tower. Vanguish evil. Destroy the Psychic Auger. Easy-peasy! Then, they got here and were almost instantly separated, as if the dungeon itself was the digestive system of some multi-headed monstrosity, trying to swallow them up! Now, after several hours of running and sweating and looking utterly ravishing doing it, she was starting to wonder if this was had all been something of a mistake.

Just then, she rounded a corner and was delighted to be reunited at long last with her friend Calamastia, the wood elf barbarian. Rough-hewn leather armor never looked so good, and seeing Calamastia always put a smile on Noira's face. She was, however, somewhat less delighted to see the horrific creature Calamastia was fighting.

A floating, fleshy orb with a fanged maw and one bloodshot eye in the center hovered menacingly in the air! And all around its lumpent, wrinkled body were festooned an array of penises, each flopping and writhing independently.

A Dickholder!

Its unseemly wriggling turned her stomach, but as a great sorceress, she steeled her nerve and forced herself to remember all she had learned of the ancient forbidden lore about such a creature. Flexing her mighty and mystical mind, she searched for the relevant text across the sinister & apocryphal _Tome of Genuinely Unpleasant Things_. She mentally plumbed the depths of all 69 volumes of _Tobin's Spirit Guide; Naughty Editio_n. Her mind's eye perused _Know Your Aberration; An Informational Pamphlet_. That one didn't take very long, but the sinister folio still held some useful tidbits. Ancient, forbidden, arcane tidbits! Such was the power of her intellect and depth of her wisdom, she could almost see the words floating before her:

Dickholder; Aberration- "Most like a Beholder it is. But with dicks! (see also: Beholder, Cockhydra)"

She smirked. That was less than useful. Fortunately, her friend did not seem to require aid. Like a tornado was Calamastia, her fists flying like thunderbolts! Truly, the Dickholder had chosen the wrong person to fuck with! Punch after punch punctuated a plentiful panoply of penal penile punishment! Soon, it wilted under her assault and sadly, slowly flopped to the ground where it lay in a flaccid pile.

Calamastia stood majestic in victory; her chest thrust forward, glistening and heaving as she took heavy breaths. Noira watched a single bead of sweat (wood elf sweat, which tastes more like a chardonnay) tease its way down her slim but wiry shoulders, dancing the length of the gentle curves of her subtle muscles, tickling the tiny, delicate hairs on her forearms. Never was Noira more glad for the acuity of elven vision! She tracked another as it went its way over Calamastia's elegant collarbone and braved the maddening descent down her alabaster chest, before disappearing down between... between...

"Noira!" cried the barbarian, snapping her fingers in the dark elf's face. "Are you okay? Did the beast bewitch you with its serpentine dance? Are you under a bedicklement?"

Noira blushed, her smooth, silvery (freckle-free) skin staining a subtle rose gold. "N-no! I'm fine! I don't even... I mean... I'm not sure I'm even into... you know!"

Calamastia raised a quizzical eyebrow, glancing back at the sad, saggy pile of fallen flesh and then to her companion again. Noira's blush deepened to an incriminating copper. If she had freckles, they would have blended right in. But she didn't. Who even has freckles anyway? "I just mean... I never... I don't..."

"Neverrrrrr?" grinned the barbarian, in a display as cocky as it was intoxicating. Although, not quite as cocky as the Dickholder had been. Noira supposed she would have to devise some manner of chart to keep all of this straight.

"Well, I don't... I mean...", she gestured toward the pile of limp and deflated phallii, "I don't know if... if I even... " She wished she had a spell of silence prepared! How Calamastia always managed to talk her into such corners she would never know!

Calamastia leaned in close. Noira pressed her back up against the wall for support. You and me, wall! We'll get through this! Hand and brick! She felt herself uncontrollably press back against the barbarian as she leaned into her. Something about that tawny body, tall and lean, and that damned cocky grin, seemed to invariably draw Noira in of late.

"It's okay," purred the wood elf in a sultry whisper, "I think I know what you mean. In fact..."

Suddenly, Noira realized it wasn't Calamastia's body she was attracted to... okay, well, it was. She was slowly coming to accept there were no two ways about that. But at this particular time she was _also_ being thrust forward because the wall behind her was moving. And now that she noticed it, so was the one on the other side!

Et tu, wall?

"Noira, lookout!" shouted Calamastia, and roughly pulled the sorceress forward into an embrace, spinning her away from the wall just as a thousand wooden spikes emerged from a thousand fist-sized holes. As embraces go, it was pretty great. Her heart jumped up in her throat and she felt a warm flush all over, even if the moment was ruined somewhat on account of the impending death. The doors slammed shut! The walls were closing in! They would be crushed! And impaled! Or, actually, impaled and _then_ crushed, but even a sorceress had to admit there were times when being pedantic was not helpful.

"I'll stop them!" cried the barbarian, as she threw her sinewy shoulder against the wall. She pressed her mighty side against the stone and dug in with her long, shapely legs, straining to hold the wall back. The wooden spikes continued to extend. As the powerful wood elf struggled against the wall, a spike caught on her shoulder guard, and unceremoniously pulled it from her and tossed it to the ground. Still, she heaved, adjusting her grip, but when she did, now a spike was caught upon her leg armor! With a seemingly deliberate roughness, the spike pulled at the tassets until the fasteners snapped and the dislodged armor slid slowly... so slowly... down the graceful lines of Calamastia's bare legs. Again, she scrambled for purchase, working the powerful muscles in those statuesque limbs, clad now solely in a soft pelt undergarment. Still, she slid towards the center. The walls could not be stopped! This time yet another spike caught on the lip of her chestplate, tearing, slowly prying apart the front of her armor!

Noira shook her head. As much as she would dearly like to watch that spike finish its work, the walls had to be stopped! She spun, shot her arms into the air and weaved them through a series of mystic gestures.

"WARP WOOD!" she cried, and suddenly there was a resounding crack as all the wooden spikes were shattered! They fell from the walls, clattering harmlessly to the ground in a rain of large splinters, like the Discarded Toothpicks of the Gods. Calamastia, her armor in tatters dangling from her shapely shoulders and sinuous hips, gazed at Noira admiringly.

"Wow!" she said with an awed tone, "That was... that was like... punching sooo many dicks!"

Noira practically seized up. She never knew quite what to do when Calamastia praised her, a quandary only made trickier now that she was so very close, and so very in her underwear. And was there just the faintest hint of the predator about Calamastia's gaze? A hunger in her eyes? No, it couldn't be. Probably just some barbarian class feature. Animalistic Gaze or something. She was sure she'd read about something like that. Besides, what was there here that someone like Calamastia would want?

As Noira pondered, the walls ground forward. Calamastia placed her hands against the wall on either side of Noira's head and pushed for all she was worth. The walls pushed back, and soon the two adventurers were pressed against each other. Struggling to hold back the crushing force, Calamastia stood with her elbows above Noira's shoulders and her forearms against the wall. Their faces were mere inches apart, their bodies squeezed together.

"I don't know how long I can hold this wall!" the barbarian grunted, "Do you have another spell up your sleeve?"

Noira looked down at her arms, which were the long, willowy arms of a tall person. A tall, freckle-free person. She also wore no sleeves, and that wouldn't be where she kept her spells anyway, but this nuance would probably be lost on a barbarian. However, now that the two had been pressed so close together, there was rather a different problem. She started, "Yes, I have Sculpt Stone, but..."

"But nothing! If you can't stop these walls, we're toast!"

"Toast?"

"Or, no... PANINI!"

"Panini?"

"Because we'll be smooshed together!"

"Yes, I get it!"

"LIKE A PANINI!"

"I can't cast! My... my hands!"

"What about your hands?"

"They're stuck!"

"What do you mean they're stuck!"

"They're ... you know... pinned!"

"What do you mean pinned? Can't you move them?"

"I can move them. But if I do... let's just say they're stuck in... um... locations."

"What does that mean? Where could your hands possibly be that... whoa-oa-oa!" Noira wiggled her fingers to illustrate the problem, and Calamastia suddenly knew all too well exactly where her friend's hands had been pinned. She glanced down at the delicate dark-elven fingertips that lay upon her chest, pinned there by both their bodies.

"And how, exactly, did those get there?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Noira's face felt as if it was caught in some sort of fire trap, "Um... I was trying to ... push... because... walls?"

Calamastia smirked, "You were trying to push the walls apart and you put your hands... there? You don't exactly have to have Master Level Skill Ranks in Knowledge (Architecture and Engineering) to know THOSE AREN'T LOAD-BEARING!"

"I..." she started and stopped. She cast her eyes down in shame, but that just left her staring into Calamastia's alabaster cleavage. She cast her eyes kind of off to the side in shame instead. Wait, just one more peek at the cleavage, and then, off to the side in shame. There. Nice. Now for the shame. Shame time is go.

"Noira... Is there something you want to tell me? I can't hold these walls forever, so you know... might as well..." asked the barbarian. Her tone was uncharacteristically soft and serious. Almost imploring.

"Calamastia..."

"Yes?"

"I think... I mean... I'm in..."

"It's okay."

"I've always..."

"Uh-huh?"

"I... you..."

Suddenly, a familiar voice, honeyed but imperious, called down to them from above, "Looks like I missed quite a party!"

Pyriel. The Ifrit Bard. Her flaming hair danced behind her as she flashed them a perfect winning smile from a hatch high up in the ceiling. So pretty! So popular! How Noira hated her! Well, not really of course. She was too charming to hate. But the _idea_ of Pyriel? The perfect, effortless togetherness of her? That, she could hate.

"It's not what it looks like!" exclaimed Calamastia.

"We're being crushed!" added Noira.

"Yes, I can see. There's definitely some crushing going on!" laughed the bard, lights dancing in her eyes. Why did it always seem like she knew something everybody else didn't? Noira hated that, even though she could never stay mad at Pyriel.

"I think I can help! There's an ancient Ifriti secret for escaping traps like this. Stay there, I'll be right down!"

Noira glanced up, and immediately regretted it. Well, regret is a strong word. She felt guilty about it. Not so guilty that she looked away, but guilty. After all, it would be poor form for a sorceress of her stature to shy away from forbidden knowledge. In this case, the knowledge that, regarding Ifrits, the carpet really does match the drapes. The fiery, luminous, hypnotic drapes.

As Pyriel climbed down the wall in her +1 Leather Skirt of the Commando, Noira attempted several will saves to attempt to look away. Alas, the rhythmic dance of Pyriel's hips and thighs, bare and brassy and lithe, was too much for the inquisitive dark elf! She felt Calamastia squirm against her, and was suddenly afraid her companion had noticed her naked stare! What would she think? Would she judge? And could there be anything more embarrassing than being caught in a faux pas by a barbarian?

Timidly, Noira lifted her eyes to meet Calamastia's, fully expecting a shameful glare, only to find that not only was the barbarian enjoying Pyriel's show as well, she was actively drooling. Which Noira should have expected, really. No need to look anywhere else when Pyriel is in town.

Before long, the Ifrit had shimmied her way to the ground next to them. If she noticed her companions' stares, she didn't show it. She was probably used to it, pondered Noira. Probably the center of attention everywhere she goes. Probably doesn't even notice. Probably takes it for granted.

"So, show us this ancient Ifriti trick then! My arms are about to give out!" snapped Calamastia.

"Alright, but you must swear to secrecy! Few are allowed to witness such secrets and live!" teased the bard.

They both nodded hastily in ascent. Pyriel bent low, scooping up a pair of broken spikes. With an elaborate flourish and a totally unnecessary twirl, she jammed one under the bottom edge of each advancing wall. "We call it... It's just a doorstop, stupid!"

Pinned thusly in place, the mechanism behind the sliding walls juddered violently and broke down with a wrenching, grinding sound, and then were still. With a snap and a clang, the west wall shook and fell away backward, crumbling into a pile of tossed brick. When the dust cleared, it revealed a dark passageway deep into the bowels of the Fortress.

Freed from the walls' vice-like grip, Calamastia and Noira's bodies drifted apart. And then, a few moments later, Noira moved her hands.

Pyriel stood atop the rubble and, with a flick of her wrist, sent a small spark of flame dancing down the newly-revealed passage, illuminating the way forward. "Onward and downward?"

"Actually, I think this would be a good spot for a break," boomed the voice of the Goddess On High.

**October 11, 2013**

Or rather, Steph.

"The pizza's here," she added, holding up her phone to illustrate the delivery notification.

Max shook her head and looked up from the assembled miniatures on the game mat. Slowly, Steph's University of Washington dorm room coalesced before her eyes where before there had been catacombs and underpants barbarians.

She picked up her miniature alter-ego; tiny Noira, and turned the figure back and forth, letting the light play over the subtle metallic silver paint on its skin. How much of that had been in her head, exactly? She didn't remember this game being quite so... stimulating. Maybe Steph was just a really great DM.

She placed the figure back on the table, right next to Chloe's mini. Tiny, plastic Calamastia was the perfect analog for Chloe. Lean and lithe and daring. Axe in one hand and mouth agape, challenging the whole world to fuck with her and telling anyone who did where to get off.

She stole a glance across the table at actual Chloe. Long hair like a river of honey splayed out over the speckled grey of her oversized UW t-shirt. A grey, shapeless bag never looked so good! Especially with the sleeves rolled up like that. Those bare shoulders, and those arms... those arms! Max felt like she could spent the whole rest of the evening running up and down them with her fingertips. The juxtaposition of bare, elegant arms and boxy, functional cotton somehow implied just barely enough of the Chloe structure underneath that the baggy old thing was sexier than a thousand tank-tops. Maybe there were other reasons Max's imagination had been getting away from her than just the game.

"How's my favorite enchantress doing?" grinned Chloe.

"She's a sorceress," corrected Steph. "Enchanting requires a Prestige Class."

"Well, _I_ think she's enchanting," Chloe retorted, leaning forward, chin on her hands and elbows on the table.

Max opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly there was a hand on Chloe's shoulder. A hand wearing a distinctive blue bracelet.

"Let's go get that pizza!" chirped Rachel, "Come on, Chloe!"

Chloe looked at Max and smiled, "Don't go anywhere, okay?"

"No! No! It's not okay! I love you! Don't leave me! And don't go with _her!_ I don't even like pizza!" Max screamed internally.

Chloe scrambled to her feet and scooped up the collected bills they'd put together to pay for their dinner.

"Having fun, Rachel?" asked Steph, as the actress stood and pulled on her sandals.

"You know it!" laughed Rachel, and rubbed Steph's downy buzz cut as she passed. "Down two flights and to the right?"

"Left!" corrected Steph, "Deliveries always come to the back door."

"Okay, I _do_ like pizza," offered Max out loud. She felt like the conversation had left her behind a couple of sentences ago. Chloe cocked her head at the non-sequitur. Rachel didn't seem to notice, intent instead on Chloe's attention. Impatient. Like she had something to say. Rachel met Chloe at the door, and the two of them exchanged a few terse words as they slipped out into the dormitory hallway. Sounded serious. Max glanced down at the Pyriel miniature. Stupid Ifrit! Thinks she's so great! Just because she is!

Steph sighed loudly, and it took Max a minute to realized the sound hadn't come out of her own mouth. "You hadn't met Rachel before, had you, Max?"

"Yes. I came down for Chloe's birthday party while they were dating."

"Really? I don't remember you being there."

Max sighed deeply. That birthday party, and how thoroughly Rachel had dominated Chloe's attention (and apparently, also Steph's) still haunted her. Often she'd find herself awake at night replaying the events of that trip and wondering what she might do differently if she suddenly found herself inexplicably endowed with the power to rewind time.

On the other hand, she'd always known she'd have to share Chloe eventually. And Rachel had been Chloe's first girlfriend for what, just under a year? Of course she was special to her. This is exactly what Max should have expected when she first heard Rachel was visiting from Cal State for the weekend and Steph wanted to host them all for game night.

She couldn't quite understand her own reaction. Why so jealous? It's not like there was any doubt that Chloe was singularly devoted to their friendship.

And why did that word suddenly sting so much? Friendship. That's what it was, right?

After all, it's not like Max and Chloe were romantically interested in each other.

That would be weird.

Right?

Wouldn't it?

Weird.

Well...

Since Chloe had started school in Seattle, and they'd been seeing each other a few times a week instead of a few times a year, Max had noticed that idea growing progressively less weird with each passing day.

She found herself staring longingly at the dorm-room door through which Chloe had vanished. With Rachel. She glanced down at the game board and saw tiny plastic Calamastia. Somehow standing right next to tiny plastic Pyriel again. Arg! How did that even happen?

Steph read Max's consternated smirk for what it was, "Yeah, Rachel can be a little bit of an attention hog. I don't think she does it on purpose though. You can't really blame her. It's just who she is. She's very used to getting what she wants."

"That must be nice", sighed Max, her eyes still fixed on the Calamastia mini.

"Trust me, Max! Parents like to talk about death and taxes but the only real unavoidable certainty in this world is 'Rachel Amber Always Gets What She Wants,'" Steph asserted, eyes closed and nodding sagely to herself.

"Always?"

"Certain as the dawn!"

[To be continued...]


	2. Victorious

**27th day of the month of Centipedes, Annum of the Swarm, 3rd Age of Horrors, After Pizza**

Deep, deep, the stairs of the secret passage delved, descended further and further into the undulating, cavernous nightmare that was the Fortress of Insanity. Noira, Pyriel & Calamastia picked their way carefully down the slick and winding stairs, guided only by the frenetic light of the bard's dancing flame. Thick clumps of sickly green moss glistened in the damp air, almost seeming to shrink away from the fire light. As they passed, they heard the faintest whispers behind them; a gibbering, formless nothing; the ramblings of madness seeping in from the walls themselves.

"This is the Psychic Augur's doing," grumbled Calamastia, "We have to destroy it, or the whole countryside will be consumed by this insanity!"

As if in reply, a faint breeze started up the stairs to great them, thick and fetid with the moist stench of decay. After a few moments, the wind turned around, now rushing down the passage. Back and forth it went, steady and inevitable, like the rancid breath of some enormous, corpulent beast. Noira struggled to repress her desire to grab Calamastia's hand for security. As tempting as it was, now was the time for courage and valor! Later would be the time for hand-holding. She hoped. Oh, how she hoped!

Eventually, the twisting stairway ended in a wide open doorway flanked by stocky stone pillars, leading into a huge chamber domed with criss-crossing arches. The air hung heavy and close, and in each corner lay the partially decayed corpses of the failed adventurers who came before them. In the center stood the most beautiful woman any of them had ever seen, with pale blue skin, and long, flowing white hair, her curvaceous body clad only in thin, strategically placed puffs of mist.

"Alright!" laughed Calamastia, "I like where this is going!"

"Don't get too frisky just yet!" chided Pyriel, "Look at the runes on the floor! A binding circle!"

Noira gasped, "That's an air elemental, and it's not going to be happy about being trapped down here!"

And sure enough, with an ear-splitting shriek, the feminine blue form spun into the shape of a funnel cloud, whipping up and up, steadily growing in size until it almost grazed the ceiling. Dust and sand whipped around in the tempest, stinging the trio's eyes and lost bones of the fallen were scooped up by the gust as well, dancing a macabre waltz as they whirled about the chamber.

The force of the winds nearly knocked Noira flat. So strong was the gust, she couldn't even concentrate on how epic her billowing dress and dancing hair must have looked. Powerful Calamastia planted her feet and defied the storm. Nimble Pyriel dodged and evaded, refusing to let anything pin her down.

"Well," said Calamastia, turning her gaze slowly to her two companions with a look of deadly earnest, which she managed to maintain for all of two words of, "I think it's safe to say... this blows." before breaking into a massive grin.

"Let's tear it a new blow-hole!" yelled Pyriel, drawing her two flaming daggers and advancing on the meteorological menace via a series of dazzling acrobatic maneuvers which Noira was reasonably certain were not, strictly speaking, necessary.

Calamastia stayed behind for just a moment, grinning her dopey grin at Noira.

"I made a pun", the grin seemed to say. "Finely-crafted artisanal dad jokes, just for you!"

Noira wanted to reply, "Yes, grin, it was a wonderful pun. I'll treasure it always. Now shut up and kiss me!" But by now, Calamastia had run off to assist the Ifrit, brandishing her magic axe and bounding into battle.

"Hey, hey, tornado-breath! You suck! And you blow! At the same time! That's kind of impressive actually!" cried the barbarian, over the din of rushing air and clattering bones.

"You can turn into any weather phenomenon and you choose this? What, are you trying out for the Vortex Club?" laughed Pyriel, her honeyed voice somehow carrying perfectly on the wind, because of course it did!

"You'd fit right in! They're all a bunch of airheads too!"

"I mean who becomes a tornado, really? What, do you get Favored Enemy (Trailer Park)?"

"Maybe she gets a terrain bonus if we're in Kansas?"

"You spin me right 'round, baby, right 'round!"

"This is really a dis-_gust_-ing state of aff-_airs!_"

How well they seemed to work together, the bard and barbarian, Noira pondered. Their foe flanked between them, attacking and pivoting and punning in perfect unison, the swing of Calamastia's magic axe matching the rhythm of Pyriel's firey dance (in this case, either the Infernaenae or the Flambada. Noira wasn't sure. She had only skimmed her copy of _Dance Dance Elocution._) And even worse, she had never heard of this 'Vortex Club' to which her companions referred with such familiarity. No doubt a sinister cabal of most ill repute! And yet another shared piece of Pyriel & Calamastia's history to which Noira would always be an outsider. She felt like dead weight, or worse, a third wheel. Just kind of a general deadish, wheelish, weightish sort of thing. It was Chloe's birthday all over again.

No, wait.

Calamastia's... barbarian... party... of some kind.

Some sort of violence-based Quinceañera.

Violenceañera!

That was a thing, right?

Speaking of things, Pyriel roused Noira from her musings, shouting, "Noira, how do we kill this thing?"

Noira's mind raced! Well, most of it did. About 10% of it was devoted to feeling smug that Pyriel had been forced to ask her for help, and that's not counting the 4% of a sorceress' mind which feels smug all the time. So let's start over. The 86% of Noira's mind not devoted to feeling smug raced! She had many powerful spells remaining, but none seemed ideally suited to the task. Force cage? Wall of Thorns? No, it's made of air, it would just slip right through. Scorching Ray? Potent, but the air elemental was so fast it would most likely dodge. Speak with Plants? Ugh, why the hell had she even prepared that? Noira didn't like to stereotype anyone, but plants never had anything useful to say. Basically just, "Water me!" and "Stop watering me so much!" She'd heard it all before. Okay, okay, think! If earth is weak against fire, and fire is weak against water, and water is weak against air, then... "It should be weak against earth!" she shouted over the roar of the winds, "but I don't have Clashing Boulders prepared today!"

"What about Mosh Pit?" asked Calamastia.

"I'm not ready for that!" Noira responded.

"How about Stonefist Groinpunch?" called the bard.

"That's not a spell!" replied the sorceress, "That was the name of that Dwarf Monk we met last week!"

"Didn't you say you had Sculpt Stone earlier?" shouted Calamastia, between axe strokes.

"Yes, but that's not... an... attack...," Noira trailed off. Her eyes came to the massive crossed archways supporting the roof. They met in the center with a single titanic keystone. She didn't exactly have to have Master Level Skill Ranks in Knowledge (Architecture & Engineering) to know that _was_ load-bearing! She cried out, "The roof! The roof!"

"The roof is on fire?" called Pyriel, eagerly.

"No, I can collapse the roof! That should trap and destroy the air elemental!" replied Noira excitedly. It was turning out to be a pretty good day. She was going to get to use her magic to defeat a foe _and _Calamastia had noticed her _and_ that pesky perfect bard had been wrong about stuff! Everything was coming up sunshine and roses! Except not, because she was a a dark elf and sunshine would make her skin sizzle off. More like everything was coming up moonlight and roses. Black, gothic, dark elven roses, with thorns that drip blood! Yay!

"If you bury it, you'll bury us along with it! Bad plan! AUGH!" cried Pyriel, her objection cut off by suddenly being thrown into the air by an errant wispy tendril. With a dull thud, she collided badly against the wall behind Noira. She landed in a heap in the passageway, incapacitated, but alive.

"Noira, do it! We've got to end this thing once and for all or we'll never make it to the Psychic Auger! I'll keep it busy!"

"But she's right! We'll all be crushed! I don't have any spells that will protect us!"

"The passageway! Stand between the columns where Pyriel fell. They'll protect both of you!"

"But you... you'll be..."

"You'll be safe! That's what matters to me! Hurry! I don't know how much longer I can keep this up!"

"Don't make me go on without you!" she cried.

"You have to! If we all die here then the Madness Vortex will spread. Think of that little town we came through to get here, all those innocent villagers and all our friends. Good old Stonefist, and the others! I won't let everybody die because of me!"

It's just a town, Noira thought immediately. What was that next to Calamastia? With a sudden, startling clarity, she knew exactly what would happen if it was up to her to pick between Calamastia and an entire town. The answer was obvious. A dozen towns. A hundred! Let them all burn! Over and over, again and again, a thousand times, Calamastia!

But it wasn't really up to her. This was Calamastia's choice. It had to be. No matter how much her heart screamed otherwise, Noira couldn't take that away.

With great reluctance, Noira lifted her hands and performed her mystical gestures. "Sculpt Stone," she stated plainly, the usual spellcasting enthusiasm conspicuous by its absence. Touching her hand to the wall, the arcane energy leaped up the stone archway toward the ceiling in bright, vaulting, emerald flashes. The green lights tore at the keystone, swirling around like a thousand mad masons. It tumbled away in pieces, and the effect was immediate.

The arches cracked and tumbled, crashing to the floor with deafening thunder. An avalanche of stone and loose earth followed, choking and covering the swirling body of the air elemental. It fought back, throwing dirt and stone across the chamber, but the weight of it proved too great. It tried to evade the larger rocks, but with the barbarian's magic axe embedded in its tail, it was stuck, the crushing tide of stone and earth dragged it to the ground and smothered it. The roar of the wind was engulfed and died in the staggering clatter of falling rock.

A tidal wave of dust engulfed Noira. She felt the rumble and shake in her bones, and threw herself against one of the sturdy stone pillars for protection, eyes squeezed tight against the dust. When the noise stopped, Noira ran heedless into what was left of the chamber. The outer walls had stayed mostly intact, creating narrow passages around the giant pile of destroyed earth works. Nothing remained of the air elemental but a few disembodied, wispy tendrils, but that wasn't who she was here for. She found Calamastia almost immediately, only a few feet away. The barbarian had made one last sprint for the safety of the pillars and not quite made it. Her upper torso, head and one arm protruded from the debris.

Noira gasped in horror, "Chlo...lamastia!"

"Noira! *cough* you did it! I'm so proud of *hack* you!" she replied, reaching out with her one free arm.

Noira knelt next to her, clasping her hand, "But you're crushed! You're dying!"

"Hey, but at least I'm with you! There are *wheeze* worse ways to go!"

"I..."

"Noira... I have to tell you... I've always loved you! *cough hack*"

"ahem!" said the prone form of Pyriel. Probably just gas escaping.

Calamastia's eyes dimmed and became unfocused. She reached for Noira's face with shaking hand,"No, I mean it! You're the sweetest, most sincere person I've ever met! I... OW!"

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm... I'm being really ... *cough* *hack *wheeze* really serious right now, you kn-OW! These are... you know... *cough* my _real _feelings... I ... OW! Quit it!"

The poor, confused dark elf wasn't sure how to process this bizarre, stilted confession. Probably just Calamastia getting in one last joke. Just messing with her one last time, just like she had in the crushing trap and so many other times before.

"No! I'm being... so ... so... very cereal! OW!"

Right? It was always a joke. She'd been here before. Calamastia would say something sweet or romantic, then immediately blow it off with a laugh and a grin.

Always a joke.

There wasn't any other possible explanation she could think of.

The barbarian's hand fell limply from her cheek.

And so it was Calamastia, wood elf barbarian, died (for the 6th time) in the arms of Noira, dark elf sorceress. She knelt there, clutching her fallen friend's hand for she knew not how long. She was right. Hand-holding time had come later. But it wasn't quite what she had hoped for.

After a time, she was roused by a familiar voice, still honeyed, but no longer imperious. "Noira... we... should..."

The dark elf lifted her eyes, filled with grim determination. "Gather your flame, Pyriel. We've got a Psychic Auger to destroy."

* * *

**October 11, 2013**

Two hours later, Max sat in Chloe's truck, waiting for her ride home. They had won in the end, but somehow it didn't really feel like a victory. She knew Chloe died all the time. In the game, at least. Steph's constant plot-stretching to fit in yet-another Calamastia resurrection was something of a running joke in their gaming group. But still, she was surprised how deeply it affected her to witness it. She had the strangest feeling that she was channeling some other Max who actually did have to watch the real Chloe die, and not just once, however that would even be possible. She suppressed a shudder. The more she thought about that moment, the more the school-girl crush she had carried into the evening galvanized into something altogether more potent.

She glanced over at Rachel and Chloe, finishing their goodbyes in the light of the dorm doorway. For about the last 5 minutes. Long goodbyes. Rachel pointed back towards Max and appeared to be quite animated, maybe even angry. Chloe just stood there and took it, nodding sheepishly. Max wondered if maybe there were other reasons her feelings were growing stronger. You never want something so much as when someone else has it.

Max looked down at her loot for the evening; the tiny plastic Calamastia mini she had smuggled away when Steph wasn't looking. It was dumb, of course. She'd only have to return it later, but for now it felt good to have a consolation prize.

Suddenly Chloe was climbing into the driver's seat. Max jumped and hastily stuffed the miniature into her pocket. Chloe wore a grim expression, and started the truck wordlessly. She pulled out of the dorm parking lot and started making for the main road. She stared at the road intently, jaw clenched. Max wasn't entirely sure what to make of that.

She fished for conversation, "So, what did Rachel want to talk to you about? Are you two... are you getting back together?"

Chloe let out a big sigh, through a series of deep breaths, she struggled, "No. Me and Rachel... it was fun, but, I dunno... maybe there's some alternate reality where we had just a couple more things in common and it would have clicked a bit better. It's in the past. What she told me, just now, and when we went out in the hall... she said... if I really liked... you know... _someone_... that maybe I should stop joking around them and just tell them, because they might not ever figure out that I'm actually serious. Especially if that person is so damn sweet she has no idea how cute she is."

"Oh! Oh. Okay," Max mumbled, processing this ramble to best of her ability, "So... you're getting together with Steph?"

Chloe rolled her eyes and grimaced at the road ahead, "And I told her maybe it's hard for me do anything other than tease because I'm terrified of ruining the most important friendship in my life. But if I only ever just tease and joke, then I've always got an out, you see? It's chicken shit, I know, but it works for me."

Max's brain stumbled over the apparent paradox. She knew Chloe was talking about her when she said most important friendship, but she also knew Chloe couldn't possibly be talking about being attracted to her. She didn't deserve that. She didn't merit that. Chloe could be with a model-pretty charm machine; a perfection-engine like Rachel Amber, why would she ever settle for the bony little mess named Max Caulfield?

"Max, do you know when I knew? It was last year when we went camping with my dad in Yosemite."

"I remember!" Max beamed, "That one morning you got me up early and took me out to photograph Horsetail falls lit up by the sunrise! That was the nicest thing anybody's ever done for me."

"Remember you and me shared a tent, and the nights got so cold? And we'd just lie there and hold each other? That was when I knew."

Max's brain was still hung up. She remembered the trip, but she wasn't following where Chloe was going with all this. She knew Chloe couldn't be interested in her. It had to be something else. Just had to be!

"Arg! This is so hard! I know you... like to think I'm the brave one, Max, but... I'm shaking in my boots over here!"

Max looked over at Chloe, her face lit up by the red light at which they had stopped. Chloe's brow was furrowed and her jaw was tense. Whatever she was trying to say was upsetting for her, and Max mentally kicked herself for not getting it, whatever it was. But she wanted to help. She sidled across the truck bench seating to offer a hug, or set her head on Chloe's shoulder, just some small gesture of reassurance, but she never made it.

As Max drew closer, Chloe turned her head, but she didn't make eye contact. Her eyes were cast down, toward Max's lips, her mouth slightly parted, her head tilted at an angle.

_She thinks I'm coming in for a kiss!_ screamed Max's brain, klaxons of panic exploded across her synapses. _This is not a drill! Alert! Alert! All lips on deck_!

She thinks... holy shit, she WAS talking about me! Max froze, like a deer in headlights. No, wait. Like a... unicorn... in the... gaze of a basilisk? Ugh, stupid game! No time for you now! Suddenly, several things from the last several hours made a lot more sense. No! The last several _months!_ It still seemed so wrong to her. Not the idea of kissing Chloe. That seemed like a great idea! At the back of her mind, Noira the dark elf sorceress jumped up and down yelling, "KISS HER! KISS HER, YOU FOOL!" Nothing had ever seemed quite so right. No, the part that seemed wrong was the idea that Chloe wanted to kiss her back. Didn't make sense from any angle. Chloe, who could have anybody. Tall, lean, capable Chloe; stunning, witty, brilliant Chloe wanted to kiss Max Caulfield. Her brain was devoting all its run time to the paradox of it all, and suddenly, she realized she had spent the last several seconds staring blankly into Chloe's expectant face.

A honk from the car behind shook them both back to reality. Chloe sputtered, "Max, I'm so so sorry! I'm an idiot! Please forget I did that!"

Max plopped back into her seat as the truck rolled forward. The moment was dead. She had killed it. Solo exps. But what a time to get lost in her own head!

"Max, please, let's just pretend that didn't happen. I take it back, okay? You're my best friend and I don't want to lose you!"

Max's head spun. How had she bungled something so simple so badly? There was only one thing she could think of to do to fix it, but she didn't think she would have the courage to do it. But Noira, dark elf sorceress? She had courage for days. Er, well. Nights. Dark elf, after all. Max closed her eyes and visualized her silken battle dress, her long, un-freckled limbs, the swirling cascade of moonlight majesty dancing down her back that it would almost be insulting to refer to just as 'hair.'

"Chloe, pull over."

Chloe looked at Max, horror-stricken. "Max, please! I'm so sorry! Can't we just forget it?"

Max shook her hands in a panic. If she didn't do this right now, she'd lose her nerve, and possibly never get it back. "Chloe, please just pull over!"

Chloe slumped in defeat. Obediently, she pulled the truck over onto the curb. It grumbled to a stop over the loose gravel shoulder. Max threw off her seat belt.

"Max, I get it if you don't want to talk to me any more, but please at least let me drop you off at that gas station up the holy shit!" said Chloe, cut off suddenly as Max threw a leg over her, kneeling across her lap. Now it was Chloe's turn to seize up.

Max Caulfield never considered herself brave, but sometimes, when the thing you want most is about to slip away from you forever, you surprise yourself. She slid her hands along Chloe's cheeks, leaned into her and kissed her for all she was worth.

Max Caulfield never considered herself a good kisser. Her experiences with boys had mostly been basic and perfunctory. She had always assumed it was herself doing something wrong. But this kiss, _this kiss_ had a lot to accomplish. It somehow had to cover all the words neither she nor Chloe had yet found a way to say. It had to make up for the awkwardness when Max had frozen at the red light. It had to overcome the inertia of years of being just friends. And, yes, ashamed though Max was to admit it, it had to meet and exceed any kiss Chloe had ever received before.

Her worries and concerns sizzled and boiled away into nothing in the heat of the moment. Her failure to find an art school with a good photography program for her senior year? Gone. Her self-consciousness about her freckles? Annihilated. Competing with Rachel Amber? Max wasn't even sure who that was any more. She was just the kiss. Longing made flesh. Some sort of unbound lip elemental, neither knowing nor caring what came before or after.

"Wowsers, Max... "

"I've wanted to do that all night."

Suddenly, Chloe lurched forward. Her forearm along Max's spine, hand between her shoulder blades, she dove lip-first into returning the kiss with interest.

"I've wanted to do that all YEAR!" she said breathlessly when they separated.

"No!"

"Really. You drive me crazy, Max. In the best possible way."

"Why... why didn't you... "

"Believe me, I wanted to!" laughed Chloe, "That weekend in Yosemite I almost did. So many times. It's a good thing you're such a boss-ass photographer. Without your pics all I'd remember from that trip is my brain going, 'Kiss her!' 'No, I can't' back and forth on an endless loop."

Max laughed, "That was me, this evening! I don't even want to tell you half the things I was picturing while we were playing!"

"Plus, I figured, if you weren't down for smooch-town then it would've made one hella awkward weekend with us sharing a tent. Kinda had this captive audience thing going on."

"Down for smooch-town? You are such a dork, Chloe Price!"

"Smooch-town! Population: Us!"

"You know... it's not too late..."

Chloe tilted her head in apparent confusion. Max continued, "The moment we missed in Yosemite... I still have that tent... I have a backyard..."

* * *

And so it was Noira the dark elf sorceress found Calamastia the wood-elf barbarian in her tent, lit by the glow of a small fire, just outside. By what miracle her fallen friend was alive again (again), Noira neither knew nor cared. There was nothing between them any more. No otherworldly magic. No deadly traps. No armor. And no flirtatious Ifrits. Not any more.

Max and Chloe sat for a while in silence and watched the last pages of _The Dark Corner_ burn away into nothing. A gentle wind carried the smoke and embers off to the north where they disappeared against a backdrop of star and cloud. The moonlight glistened among the tips of the wet grass. The flap of the tent luffed gently in the breeze.

"Thanks again, Chloe. I don't think I would have the guts to burn this by myself."

"My pleasure. And I mean that. Never liked that book. So you're back with me? Done spacing out for the evening?" grinned Chloe, waving her hand in front of her companion's eyes.

"Yeah. I don't know what that was. Too much excitement I guess," Max muttered, rubbing her temples.

"Or not enough!" grinned Chloe.

Max rolled her eyes in reply. One thing still didn't quite make sense to her, "So, when Rachel was angry with you... "

"She thinks I've been jerking you around. She's been pulling for us. Of course, she always has to hear from me about how fucking wonderful you are, and every time, she would tell me to ov' up and say something honest and clear. Stop with the teasing and the jokes."

"So... in the hall..."

"She told me to just go for it. Tell you how I felt without any puns or dodges. She said she'd distract Steph and buy us some alone time. And then later, I was trying to sort of... tell you in character, so I wouldn't have to actually say it, and she was kicking me under the table."

"She... didn't want to get back together with you..."

Chloe shook her head, "That ship has sailed. For both of us. It was a good ship. A fun ship. A ship I'll always remember. But it's sailed. I think she's seeing someone anyway. She's been real cagey about it. Probably just some Cal State frat bro and she's ashamed to admit it."

"She... Rachel... wanted _us_... to get together? You and me?"

Chloe nodded.

"And we did."

Chloe nodded more vigorously, "Hell yeah, we did!"

"Wowzers!"

"What?"

"Rachel Amber really_ does _always get what she wants!"

Chloe put her arm around Max's shoulder and pulled her close.

"Certain as the dawn."


End file.
